Chapter 8 #2
Trent made a point of shifting lanes with deliberate smoothness, as if to show the universe who was boss.
The air in the cab was noticeably lighter.
Joshua, his head tilted to rest on Colin’s shoulder, let out an audible sigh and then immediately tried to mask it with a cough.
But Colin heard it and gave him a small, gentle elbow-poke.
“Back on track,” Joshua said, nudging him.
“Best place to be,” Colin answered, nuzzling against his cheek.
From behind, a wave of laughter erupted: Nate had found an article about weird Virginia laws and was reading choice bits aloud, punctuating each with, “This could be us.” Even Alex joined in, offering a dry “We could all go to jail for spitting on a seagull? Would you prosecute us for that, Colin?”
The next miles went fast. The farmland changed in subtle ways: fences got newer, houses spread out.
The highway straightened and widened, inviting speed.
The bus responded, picking up a steady rumble that matched the hum of conversation inside.
For the first time, nobody seemed worried about the next turn, or the one after that.
Colin took a moment to check the time: 10:05 They’d be at Farmville in less than twenty minutes, only a few minutes late.
He looked over at Trent. The man hadn’t spoken since the detour, but the set of his jaw was different now—looser, content. Colin thought about saying something, then decided not to tempt fate.
A new playlist started up, some early-2000s pop hits, and Alex whooped loud enough to rattle the windows. Nate mimed playing drums on the seat in front of him. Joshua hummed along, off-key and unbothered.
Colin realized he was smiling again.
Up ahead, the landscape began to rise, little by little. The fields fell away, replaced by the faint silhouettes of water towers and steeples: Farmville. The first destination. Colin scanned the horizon, then settled back in his seat, letting the motion of the bus carry him.
He glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing perfect about them—mismatched, a little messy, sometimes lost—but together, they were moving forward. This, Colin thought, is what matters.
At the crest of the next hill, the rooftops of Farmville shimmered in the sun, a real town, waiting for them.
As they entered, Colin leaned forward, scanning storefronts. A hardware store with sun-bleached awnings. A diner with a hand-painted sign advertising Best Pie in VA. A barbershop with an old-fashioned spinning pole. The kind of town where everyone knew everyone, and strangers were noticed.
“There,” Joshua said, pointing to a low brick building on the left. A wooden sign out front read Farmville Community Center—Est. 1962.
“There’s my folks!” Alex called, pointing.
“No surprise, they beat us here,” Colin said, poking Trent with a snicker.
Trent signaled and pulled into the small parking lot.
The bus shuddered to a stop, and for a moment, nobody moved.
The engine ticked as it cooled. Through the windshield, Colin could see a man standing on the front steps of the building—he was tall and angular, wearing khakis and a button-down rolled to the elbows.
“That’ll be Kyle,” Joshua said quietly.
Colin nodded but didn’t get up. His hands were wrapped around his coffee mug even though it had gone cold an hour ago. Behind him, he could hear Nate gathering his supplies, Alex already unbuckling.
“You good?” Joshua asked, voice low enough that only Colin could hear.
“Yep.” Colin set the mug down and stood. “Let’s do this.”
Kyle Mendoza, like many school counselors, had the kind of smile that made you believe everything was going to be fine, even when it probably wasn’t. He met them at the bottom of the steps, hand extended first to Joshua, then to Colin.
“You made it,” Kyle said. “Traffic okay?”
“GPS tried to murder us a few times, but we survived,” Joshua replied.
Kyle laughed, then turned as the rest of the team filed off the bus. He shook hands with everyone and immediately turned to greet Alex. “You must be Alex. Your mom told me you designed the sign on the bus. That’s awesome.”
Alex beamed and then ran to greet his parents.
Kyle turned and gestured toward the building. “Come on in. I’ll give you the tour, get you signed in, and then you’ve got about forty minutes before the first kids are supposed to show up.”
“Supposed to?” Colin asked.
Kyle’s smile flickered, just for a second.
“Well. We posted flyers, made calls, sent emails. But this is Farmville, and not everyone is... thrilled about this event. So, we’ll see who actually walks through the door.
” He turned to Sharon. “You asked me about parents. There are actually two sets of parents coming who indicated they’d like to talk with you. ”
Sharon turned to Paul with a smile, and Colin felt something tighten in his chest. “How many confirmations did you get?”
“About ten said they were interested. I’m expecting maybe six or seven to actually show.”
“And if it’s fewer?”
Kyle shrugged. “Then we make it work with fewer.” He pulled open the front door. “Come on. Let me show you the space.”
The community center smelled of old carpet and lemon cleaner. Kyle led them past a wall of flyers and into a large beige room under fluorescent lights that blinked overhead.
“This is it,” he said, spreading his arms. “Not fancy, but it’s private. The door locks from the inside, bathrooms are just down the hall, and there’s a small kitchenette through that door if you need water or coffee.”
Colin walked the perimeter of the room, his hand trailing along the wall as he moved.
Two exits—the main door they’d entered through and an emergency exit on the far side.
Good. Windows along the back wall looked out onto a small courtyard with a few picnic tables, the space enclosed by a six-foot fence.
Visible from inside, not from the street.
He peered into the kitchenette and nodded in satisfaction when he saw no door leading outside.
He noted the folding chairs stacked against one wall, the long table in the corner that would work for check-in.
The room itself was maybe thirty by forty feet—small enough to feel intimate but large enough that kids wouldn’t feel trapped.
No blind spots. He could position himself near the door and see the whole space.
The windows bothered him for half a second—ground level, easily accessible—but the courtyard was gated, lights spaced evenly along the perimeter. If anyone tried to cause problems, they’d have to come through the main entrance or make enough noise to alert everyone.
He completed his circuit and returned to where Joshua stood watching him, one eyebrow raised.
“Acceptable,” Colin said, before Joshua could comment on the inspection he’d just conducted.
Joshua’s mouth twitched. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I was going to say the room looks good.” Joshua crossed to the table and set down his bag. “That it feels welcoming.”
Colin looked around again, trying to see it through Joshua’s eyes instead of his own prosecutor’s lens. The late morning light coming through those windows. The worn but clean floors. Space enough for kids to spread out or cluster together as they needed.
“It does,” he admitted.
“We can arrange the chairs however you want,” Kyle continued. “Circle, rows, whatever works.”
“Circle,” Joshua said immediately.
“Got it.” Kyle grabbed a stack of chairs and started setting them up. Trent and Paul joined him without being asked, and within minutes, they had about fifteen chairs arranged in a loose circle in the center of the room.
While they arranged the chairs, Joshua moved outside and reentered the bus.
Once there, he moved to the back and lifted one of the thick binders from its large, carefully secured box.
For a moment, he ran his thumb along the metal rings of the binder, then he returned to the community center and walked it over to Kyle.
“This is for you,” he said. “Everything we’ve built so far. Workbooks. Contacts. Follow-up structure. Crisis protocols. Everything. It’s yours to personalize for Farmville and use after we leave.”
Kyle blinked. “You’re giving this to us?”
“That’s the whole point,” Joshua said quietly. “That you build on this foundation.”
Kyle dropped into a chair–the Playbook in his lap–and began to slowly turn pages.
Nate claimed the long table for his journal supplies, unpacking boxes of notebooks, markers, construction paper, scissors, and glue sticks with the focus of a surgeon prepping for an operation.
Alex hovered nearby, organizing the supplies into neat rows.
Trent and Colin hovered over a table containing fruit, doughnuts, and box drinks of various flavors.
Sharon stood at the edge of the circle, arms folded, studying the space. “It’s good,” she said to Joshua. “Feels safe.”
Joshua nodded, but his eyes kept drifting to the door, as if he were already imagining the kids walking through it.
Munching a doughnut, Colin walked over to where Kyle was adjusting the last chair. “You said there’s been pushback?”
Kyle glanced up. “Yeah. Town council wasn’t exactly thrilled when I requested the space. A few parents called to complain. One guy threatened to show up and ‘observe.’”
“Is he going to?”
“I told him it’s a closed session and if he shows up, I’ll call the cops.
” Kyle straightened and shrugged. “He knows me well enough to know I don’t mess around, so I doubt he’ll risk it.
” He patted Colin’s arm. “Trust me, I’ve been doing youth work in this town for eight years.
I know how to handle the blowhards. But I also know the kids who need this are scared.
Some of them have never said the word ‘gay’ out loud.
So just... be patient. They might not open up right away. ”
Colin nodded slowly. “We’re good at patient—all of us. I was a UVA campus cop for ten years. ‘Patient’ is burned into my DNA.”
Kyle smiled again, that steady, reassuring smile. “That’s good to know, in more ways than one.”
At 10:50, Kyle left to cover the front desk and check in kids as they arrived. The team stood in the empty room, staring at the circle of chairs.
“Who wants to do a practice run?” Nate said brightly.
“Practice?” Paul asked.
“Circle up. Pretend we’re the kids, just to see.”
Joshua groaned. “We don’t have time—”
“Ten minutes,” Nate insisted. “It’ll help.”
To Colin’s surprise, everyone sat, even Trent.
Nate perched on the edge of his seat, hands on his knees. “Okay. I’ll be a sullen teenager. Joshua, you do the intro.”
Joshua rubbed his face, then straightened.
“All right. Fine.” He took a breath. “Welcome. Thanks for being here. We want you to know this is a safe space. What’s said here stays here.
You don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable sharing.
And if at any point you need a break, you can step out. No judgment.”
Nate raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“What if we don’t want to talk at all?”
“Then you don’t have to,” Joshua said. “You can just listen.”
“Cool.” Nate slouched back in his chair, arms crossed. “I’m just here for the snacks.”
Alex snorted.
Colin found himself smiling despite the knot in his stomach. This was good. This was them figuring it out, together.
Then the door opened, and Kyle stuck his head in. “First kid just arrived.”
The room went silent.
Colin stood, heart hammering. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Here we go.”
The first kid moved through the door: a teen with bleached-blond hair, eyeliner thick and a little crooked. He paused, scanning for exits.
Kyle appeared behind him. “This is Jamie,” he said gently. “Jamie, this is Joshua and Colin. They’re helping me run the session today.”
Jamie nodded once, shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, and made his way to a chair on the far side of the circle. He sat down, pulled out his phone, and didn’t look up.
Two minutes later, a pair of girls arrived together—but they weren’t alone. A woman who looked to be in her forties with tired eyes and a death grip on her purse hovered behind them, one hand protectively on the older girl’s shoulder.
Kyle stepped forward immediately. “Hi there. You must be Mom?”
“Yes,” the woman said, voice tight. “I’m Maria. This is Marissa and Daniela.”
“Great,” Kyle said warmly. “The girls’ session is right in here.” He gestured to the circle. “And we’ve got a parent session happening just down the hall. Sharon and Paul are fantastic—they’ll get you all set up.”
Maria hesitated, looking between her daughters and the room full of strangers.
“Mom,” Marissa said quietly. “It’s okay.”
Maria swallowed, nodded, and let Kyle guide her away. The girls—same dark curly hair, same sharp cheekbones—claimed two chairs next to each other and immediately leaned in, whispering.
A boy arrived alone—tall, Hispanic, broad-shouldered, wearing a Farmville High football jersey. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Kyle introduced him as Emilio. He took a seat near the door and crossed his arms over his chest, jaw set.
Another girl slipped in, and she had company too—a heavyset man in work boots who looked like he wanted to bolt, and a younger woman, maybe late twenties, with her arms wrapped tight around herself.
“This is Emma,” Kyle said, and then to the adults, “And you folks are...?”
“I’m her dad,” the man said gruffly. “Jeff. This is my wife, Lisa.”
“Perfect,” Kyle said. “Emma, you’re going to be in here with the other kids. Mom and Dad, if you’ll follow me...”
Emma stood frozen as her parents were led away. She was small, maybe fourteen, with light brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She was wearing an oversized flannel shirt that swallowed her slight frame.
“Hi,” Joshua said, his voice soft. “Come on in, Emma. Grab any seat you like.”
She moved slowly, eyes on the floor, and sat in a chair between Nate and the empty seat next to Colin. She wrapped her arms around herself and tucked her chin down, making herself as small as possible.
Colin felt something twist in his chest. Her parents had brought her—that was good. That was huge, actually. But she looked absolutely terrified.
A moment later, another boy arrived—short, wiry, with glasses and a Captain America t-shirt. Kyle introduced him as Ben. He gave everyone a shy smile and sat down next to Alex, who immediately leaned over and whispered, “Cool shirt.”
Ben’s smile widened.
By 11:10 a.m., they had seven kids in the circle, plus Alex. No one else arrived.
Kyle hovered near the door for another minute, then stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. He took a seat in one of the circle’s empty chairs and drew in a long sigh. Colin met his eyes, and Kyle gave a small nod. I’ve got your back.